An absence of bees, which Surprises—just us among The laden, bejeweled trees. One girl in the car sleeping, The other trailing after you Like a handmaiden, picking Where you pick, gathering What you gather. The basket Fills with more fruit than we Can ever eat. “I’ll bring cobbler To the office,” you say, Tempering our cheery greed. Already we’ve devoured more Than our share of happiness, Though the inequitable Universe seems aloof, unaware Of our years of good fortune. Driving home the scent of Peaches laps through the car As if we are in the company Of tides. The radio, meanwhile, Mentions darkening skies. But not here, and not anywhere We can see, not for miles and miles.